


acts like summer, walks like rain

by dust_and_gold



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Summer Camp, F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-12-30
Updated: 2015-01-24
Packaged: 2018-03-04 10:18:39
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,916
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3064187
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dust_and_gold/pseuds/dust_and_gold
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Fluff AU based on the crazy imaginings of my own fluffy brain. Wish I could blame this on a prompt, but no. I prompted myself.</p>
<p>Clarke and Bellamy have both been ordered by Judge Jaha to serve out their court-mandated community service as counselors at Camp Drawpaship. Somehow, impossibly, they have to put aside their differences and lead Cabin 100, which just happens to be made up of the worst campers EVER. Plus Wells is a turtle. (Go with it.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Welcome to Camp Drawpaship

Camp Drawpaship was the prettiest place Clarke had ever seen.

Green, sweeping forests, meadows spotted with wildflowers, a great green lake that rippled with sunshine and reflected the clouds. It was more nature than Clarke had ever seen. Which wasn’t saying much, considering her idea of wilderness was Central Park, but she felt her leaden heart rise as she adjusted the duffel bag on her shoulder and looked around.

Being a counselor at Camp Drawpaship was, oh, just about the last thing she’d wanted to do this summer. But Judge Jaha—who just so happened to be her mother’s boss—had said she could either serve her community service here or spear trash on the highway for two months. It had been a no brainer.

Even so, it wasn’t exactly med camp at Johns Hopkins. But that dream was dead.

“ _That_ over there is the mess hall,” said the disgustingly chipper woman leading Clarke through the camp, her ponytail bouncing, “and down that path is the arts and crafts shed, and that over there is the lake!”

“You don’t say,” Clarke said, but her guide—Becca? Bertha? Something with a B—seemed to be the sort of person who repelled sarcasm.

“I do indeed! And _this_ ,” Becca/Bertha said with a flourish, “is your cabin!”

Clarke gamely feigned enthusiasm. She hitched up a weak, watery smile, and Becca/Bertha beamed back at her like Clarke had burst into applause.

“I know! It’s so great! Cabin 100 may be the smallest on campus, but you’ll be taking care of the smallest campers, so, you know how it goes! And it’s also the _newest_ , so it won’t leak or anything like that! Let’s go in and see if your buddy counselor has arrived yet, shall we?”

Clarke hoisted her duffle bag higher and followed… Bridget?...into the wooden cabin.

There _was_ someone waiting for them. Clarke drew up short, narrowing her eyes. The guy leaning against a set of bunk beds was tall, tousle-haired, and strong-jawed, with golden brown skin and a tightly furrowed brow. Unlike her, he wasn’t dressed in the (hideous) green polo and khaki shorts that comprised the uniform for counselors of Camp Dropship. Like her, he looked like he’d rather be any place on earth than here.

He looked like the sort of person Clarke had absolutely zero time for.

“Mr. Bellamy Blake!” Brigitta cried. “You made it! Clarke, this will be your fellow Cabin 100 counselor!”

“Hello,” Clarke said politely.

Bellamy ran his eyes over her, and she shifted self-consciously. She really wished she wasn’t wearing that god damn uniform. And she _really_ wished she hadn’t tucked the stupid polo shirt in like some kind of Floridian retiree. She was seventeen, for God’s sake.

Bellamy smirked. “Okay then.”

“That’s your bed over _theeeeere_ ,” sang Blair, pointing to one flat cot in the far corner, “and that’s _your_ bed over _theeeeeere_!” This time she gestured past Clarke to the other cot which was, blessedly, on the complete opposite side of cabin. A curtain bisected the room—presumably to separate the girls from the boys. Between them stood a forest of rickety bunk beds that soon would be swarming with children.

Oh, God. Children.

“It’s weird to see the cabin all empty like this,” Clarke said, just for something to say.

“Oh, but it’s not empty at all!” Brunhilde practically danced towards the tank that sat beneath the window, reached inside, and scooped out something small, green, and wet. “Meet Wells, the cabin turtle!”

There was a small silence.

“The cabin…turtle,” Bellamy said.

“Yes indeed! Every cabin has its own mascot, and 100 here has had Wells for four whole years! Do you want to hold him?”

Clarke would honestly rather hold feces. Which, she was sure, Wells had been swimming around in for four whole years.

“Desperately,” Bellamy said, in that same dry way he said everything. Beaming, Blythe plopped Wells the turtle into his hands.

Then she rattled on about all the things Clarke already knew—things like schedules, CPR certification, lifeguarding, allergens, emergency procedures, all the things Clarke had spent weeks memorizing out of her orientation packet. She’d read the think back to front to back again. But Clarke listened carefully, just in case she’d missed something.

Bellamy Blake spent the entire lecture closely inspecting Wells the turtle.

“What are you _doing?_ ” Clarke hissed as Bellamy flipped poor Wells over and peered at his belly.

“I’m pretty sure old Wells here is a girl.”

“How can you even—” She broke off when she realized Brenda was no longer talking.

“I have _such_ a good feeling about you two,” she said, hands clasped together. “I can already tell this is going to be the best Cabin 100 we’ve ever had! I mean, you’re both from the Big Apple! It’s kismet!”

Clarke and Bellamy looked at each other.

“Upper West,” Clarke said.

His smirk deepened, but it wasn’t an amused look. “Bronx.”

She looked away.

“I know you’re both here under…” Begonia faltered. She seemed to struggle with topics that weren’t one hundred glitter and sunshine. “…less than… favorable circumstances? But Camp Drawpaship is just _thrilled_ to have you on board with us, and I just know we’ll have the most _amazing_ summer together! Your little campers are so lucky to have you!”

She beamed, head twisting between Clarke and Bellamy like she’d never seen a finer pair of people anywhere. Clarke felt sort of bad for her.

“Right!” Beulah said. “You just call us at Camp Headquarters—we call it the Ark around here—if you need anything, and I mean _anything_. Now you two get settled on in before your campers arrive! See you for dinner at the mess!”

She twinkled her fingers in a sparkly little wave and left.

Clarke kneaded the ache building between her eyes. What did Bethanne mean, both here under “less than favorable” circumstances? Was Bellamy here under judge order, too? She glanced at him, taking in his height, the intimidating set of his shoulders, the fuck-all glint in his dark eyes. Yeah, that sounded about right.

“Never would have pegged a princess like you to be a delinquent,” he said, reading her mind.

She scowled and tossed her duffel onto her bed. Just her luck to get the one gender-mixed cabin in the whole camp. That dividing curtain looked distressingly _flimsy._

“Jaha?” Bellamy said.

Clarke forced a sort of grimace. “Yep.”

She did not ask what he’d been arrested for, and she was infinitely glad that he didn’t ask back.

 

* * *

 

 

The children arrived not long after.

It was like some sort of Biblical plague. One moment, it was nothing but tense silence as Bellamy watched Clarke unpack all her things (he seemed to have brought a change of underwear and nothing else in his black duffel). And the next, upon them descended a horde of screaming, laughing, shrieking, crying children. And they were all Clarke’s responsibility.

She never knew that eight-year-olds could be so… loud. Or sticky. Or _troublesome._

There was Charlotte, who was a crier. There were Jasper and Monty, who wasted no time at all in freeing Wells from his tank and hiding him on top of the ceiling fan (Bellamy, being twelve foot seven, had had to field that rescue mission). There was Murphy, who’d bullied Miller out of the coveted top bunk and then poured the contents of his canteen all over Monroe’s comforter. And then there was tiny, floppy-haired Finn, who had decided that Clarke was the prettiest lady he’d ever seen.

“At arts and crafts,” Finn said, looking up at her very seriously, “I will make you a lanyard.”

Clarke hid a smile. “Thank you, Finn. That’s very nice of you.”

He looked a bit troubled by her lack of enthusiasm. “ _Two_. I will make you _two_ lanyards. What’s your favorite color?”

“Why don’t you go finish making your bed?” she said, pushing him gently toward his bunk.

The moment he was gone, Bellamy sidled up to her. “I hope you two are very happy together.”

“Shut up.”

Truth be told, it was the most male attention she’d received in an embarrassingly long time. At least the eight-year-old didn’t seem to mind how unflattering her uniform was.

“Clarke, Clarke, Clarke, Claaaaarke,” one little girl named Harper yelled, “can we go ride the horses now?”

“Not yet. We have to wait until every member of our cabin is here.”

“But then can we go ride horses?”

“We’re not supposed to visit the—” Clarke began, but Bellamy talked over her.

“Of course we can. The moment everyone’s here, Cabin 100 is heading straight to the stables.”

“ _Yayyyyy!_ ”

Clarke whirled on him. “That’s not what’s on the schedule. We’re supposed to visit the stables tomorrow, _after_ the kids have received their animal safety lessons.”

“They’re horses, not dragons. Kids'll be fine.”

“There’s a _schedule_.”

Bellamy just rolled his eyes. “Whatever, Princess.”

“My name is Clarke.”

“Princess Clarke,” came Finn’s tiny voice, reverently. Bellamy snorted.

Feeling besieged, Clarke glanced down at the clipboard in her hands and counted off the number of campers on her roster. “We’re still one kid short. Unless I’m miscounting?”

“You’re not,” Bellamy said, and glanced towards the door.

So they waited. Clarke tried to maintain order by getting the kids to play a game, but they were all too wired, bouncing off the walls and asking things like “Can we play catch with Wells?” (Bellamy: “Yes”; Clarke: “NO”) and “Can we break into the Grounders cabin and put all their furniture on the roof like in _The Parent Trap_?” (Bellamy: “Hell yeah”; Clarke: “POSITIVELY NO”).

If the last camper didn’t get here soon, Clarke was going to go crazy. They were supposed to be at activity sign-ups in half an hour, and she knew it would take at least that long to get her rowdy pack wrangled and out the door.

She glanced down at the cabin roster. Only one name didn’t have a little checkmark beside it: _Octavia Blake_.

“Where the hell are you, Octavia Blake?” she muttered, looking towards the open door.


	2. The Shit Hits the Jasper (Literally)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clarke and Bellamy have both been ordered by Judge Jaha to serve out their court-mandated community service as counselors at Camp Drawpaship. Somehow, impossibly, they have to put aside their differences and lead Cabin 100, which just happens to be made up of the worst campers EVER.

At long last, Octavia Blake arrived in the doorway of Cabin 100, accompanied by an actual sane adult.

“I’m Adam, from the infirmary. I believe this belongs to you?” He was another counselor, recognizable by his poisonous green polo. He had Octavia by the wrist, and the seven-year-old did not look happy about it. In fact, she looked like she was going to bite him at any moment.

“O!” Bellamy was across the cabin in a flash, kneeling in front of the dark-haired girl. Clarke wasn’t exactly a kid person—unfortunate for this job—but even she had to admit that Octavia Blake was possibly the prettiest child she had ever seen. (Like sister like brother.)

Wait. Blake. As in… Bellamy Blake?

“You can let go of my sister now,” Bellamy said with what Clarke thought was undue aggression.

Probably sensing his life was at stake, Adam did. Bellamy immediately hugged her, and she hugged back.

“Bel, did you see all the trees? And the lake? Can we see horses? Isn’t is the prettiest place in the _world?_ Don’t you want to—”

“Why is she late?” Clarke asked.

Adam crossed his arms. “She ran off the bus the moment the doors opened, hurtled headlong into the woods, and started screaming, 'WE'RE BACK, BABIES!' over and over again.”

The look Bellamy gave Octavia shocked Clarke. It was so not like the surly attitude she’d been receiving all morning. It was, dare she say it, sweet. Amused. “O, you’ve never been here before.”

“And then she fell over a log and scraped her knee,” Adam said. “I had to patch her up before I could bring her over.”

“You _what?_ ” Bellamy jerked backwards and immediately bent to inspect Octavia’s Disney Princess band-aid (Mulan, Clarke noted with approval) like it was a bullet wound.

“I’m _okay_ , Bel,” she said with great dignity. “I’m not a _baby._ ”

“Did you clean it out right?” Bellamy was glaring at Adam like Adam was responsible. “Did you use, I don’t know…Hey, you didn’t use penicillin, did you? She’s allergic to penicillin!”

“Bellamy,” Clarke said. “It’s a _scrape_. With a little Neosporin she’ll be fine.”

“Did you use Neosporin?” said Bellamy aggressively.

“Of course.” Adam looked deeply insulted.

Clarke glanced at the rest of her tiny campers.They were all staring at Bellamy. To her alarm, most of them looked positively worshipful. Except for Finn, of course, whose reverent eyes were locked on Clarke.

Clarke finally managed to get Adam to leave and the gang out the door and on the way to activity sign ups. She failed, however, to get them to walk in two straight lines, and it was entirely Bellamy Blake’s fault.

“Lines?” he said. “ _Lines?_ ”

“Like _Madeline!_ ”

“We don’t have any campers named Madeline,” he said, like she was crazy. “Whatever, I’m running. They’ll follow.”

“Are you completely—”

“LAST ONE TO SIGN-UPS GETS LAST SHOWER!” Bellamy hollered, and sprinted away.

Clarke watched, dumbfounded and furious, as the rest of the savages whooped and ran after him.

Except for Finn.

Of course.

* * *

Clarke was forced to run too, of course, lest she be the shit counselor who couldn’t even keep up with her own charges. All the other cabins with their green-shirted leaders were already assembled at the various sign-up tables. No doubt they were the last ones, and no doubt they’d get all the shit time slots. She hoped Arts and Crafts wasn’t completely booked.

Octavia, who was the smallest camper, was the last to make it, but she was so excited she didn’t seem to care. She collided with the rest of the runners, all of them laughing, and accidentally sent the boy named Miller stumbling.

“Hey!” Miller shoved her off of him. “Watch it, slow-poke!”

Bellamy was there so fast Clarke didn’t even see him move. He stepped in front of his sister and loomed over Miller like some kind of vengeful god.

“Don’t you _ever_ pick on my sister again. Same goes for all of you.” He swept his dark gaze across the rest of Cabin 100. “Any of you mess with my sister, you answer to me. Got it?”

Octavia looked furious. Miller hung his head and muttered sorry. Bellamy pointed an imperious hand at the first sign up table, and the kids obeyed.

Clarke was horrified. “What the hell, Bellamy?”

He flipped her off.

“Charming role model,” she muttered, and went after the kids. 

* * *

 

After the activity sign ups, the camp gathered for lunch. Each cabin had a table beneath a huge outdoor awning with a view of the lake. Clarke would have loved to paint the way the sunlight filtered through it, but she was quickly starting to realize that being the _de facto_ mother of fifteen kids under the age of eight was a full time job. They had to be chaperoned at all times: when someone needed to pee, when they went into the mess hall to get their food, when they inevitably wanted second or thirds, when they wanted dessert, when someone (Octavia) just wanted to go “exploring because I saw the prettiest butterfly, I really did!”. It was _constant_.

After the meal, Bertha/Becca/Brigitta addressed the assembled camp and explained the general rules. Again, Clarke had memorized the this information back to front, but it was nice to hear again what the deal was going to be. She didn’t want to mess up. She’d had enough of _that_ in her life, that was for sure.

Bianca explained that the camp was divided into three age groups: the Mountainers, who were the oldest; the Grounders, the middle group; and Cabin 100, who made up the entirety of the “camp babies”, as one Grounder so charmingly sneered at them.

“And _then_ ,” Beverly cried, like she was Santa announcing the arrival of Christmas, “at the end of the summer, we hold the Camp Drawpaship Olympics! It’s the mightiest, greatest, most legendary camp competition in the land, pitting the champion Mountainers cabin against the best of the Grounders and our very own Cabin 100!”

Clarke glanced at Octavia, who was so small her feet didn’t touch the ground, and Finn, who seemed to be very preoccupied with the direction his hair fell in at the moment. Then she glanced at the nearest Mountain cabin table, which comprised of ten Hulked out fourteen-year-old boys.

 _This is the world’s dumbest idea_.

“And the WINNER,” Bree said, grinning madly, “get’s THIS SHINY TROPHY!”

A pair of greenshirts trotted out of the mess hall with a gigantic trophy, and the entire camp burst into “ooohs” and “awwws.”

“WANT.” Jasper’s eyes were as wide as coins. “WANTWANTWANT.”

“Like the House Cup,” Clarke said.

Bellamy gave her that look again, like she was off her rocker. “The what?”

That was the precise moment Clarke decided Bellamy Blake was worth zero percent of her time. (And she was determined to never find him hot ever again.)

* * *

The next day, Cabin 100 visited the horses.

Clarke hated horses. _Hated_ them. They stank, they kicked, they shat, and they were a bitch to draw. All those joints at weird angles. What idiot designed them?

Also, they scared the crap out of her.

The rest of Cabin 100 went ape shit over the beasts. Clarke was worried Octavia was going to give herself a heart attack, she was so excited. Bellamy almost didn’t let her ride (Octavia pitched an unholy fit), but after the horse master assured him it was perfectly safe, Bellamy said that as long as she got the most docile horse, and she _never ever_ took off her helmet, she could ride.

As all the kids saddled up, Clarke hung back warily. Finn tried to stay with her, citing asthma and allergies and some other condition she was ninety nine percent sure was made up, but Bellamy grabbed him by the scruff of his shirt and dragged him towards the horses.

“You riding?” he asked her.

“No.” She tried to say it as coldly as she could, but clearly he could hear her fear anyway. (Damn that slow, perceptive smile. Also, damn that dimple for existing. It had no right.)

“Not many horses on the Upper West Side, Princess?”

“Oh, like the Bronx is the freaking Wild West.”

One of the horsemasters suddenly called her name, and Clarke ran forward. Monroe was crying. She’d never been on a horse before and didn’t want to go alone and desperately wanted Clarke to ride with her.

Clarke sent up a prayer to whatever gods were listening, clenched her teeth, and climbed on behind Monroe.

“Brave princess,” Bellamy said, with a smirk that was not altogether kind.

“Don’t call me that,” she snapped.

* * *

Everything was going well until the horse shit hit Jasper in the face.

To be fair, it mostly hit him in the _chest_ , but Jasper definitely had some fecal matter streaking his cheek. They’d been riding their fat, slow ponies in rings around the paddock (ponies that were thankfully being led on the ground by more experienced horsepeople) when a glob of poop came soaring through the bushes and struck Jasper square.

Clarke whirled around as laughter exploded from the bushes.

“Hey!” Bellamy barked. “Who did that?”

“I’ve been hit! I’m hit! I’m dying! I’m hit!” Jasper was screaming so much that his horse was shuffling. “They’ve killed me! There’s poop on my face! I’m gonna die! _There’s poop on my face!_ ”

Two Grounder boys sprinted out of the bushes and away, backs to the paddock until they were gone.

Clarke and Bellamy got the kids quickly off the horses, and Clarke (naturally) was the one who took Jasper to the bathroom in the back and cleaned him up. She and the freshly de-pooped Jasper reunited with the rest of Cabin 100, who were waiting for them outside the stable.

To Clarke’s alarm, Bellamy seemed to be giving a speech, and her campers seemed to be listening.

“We’ve got to retaliate,” he said. “We’ll get them back twice as hard, show them who the best cabin at camp is. By the end of the summer, that trophy will be ours.”

“YEAH!” Miller and Murphy shouted.

“NO,” Clarke said.

“Ah, Princess Buzz Kill arrives,” Bellamy said. Miller laughed.

“We’re not going to escalate this. I’ll report the kids, but the rest of you are going to ignore this, and peace will follow.”

Bellamy scoffed. “That’s no way to get the respect of the Grounders.”

“That’s how we keep our campers from getting hurt, Bellamy.”

“What if I hid outside their cabin,” Octavia said excitedly, “and then I threw water balloons at them and got them so mad that they—”

“You’re not going near any Grounders,” Bellamy said.

“No one is!” Clarke said hotly.

Bellamy crossed his arms, muscles bulging. (Why did they _keep doing that?!_ Did muscles normally behave that way?) “This is camp. We get to do whatever the hell we want here. We’ve got to come up with a plan of attack.”

“No,” Clarke said, outraged, “right now, we’ve got to get to the _lake_. Since it’s the _next activity._ And don’t anybody _dare_ push any Grounders in!”

“Yes, Mom,” Monty said sulkily. 

* * *

 

Of course Cabin 100 was sharing the lake activities with a Grounder cabin. And two of the Grounder boys happened to have very similar backs and suspiciously clean hands.

So, of course, a scuffle broke out on the dock.

Clarke raced forward, grabbed bodily hold of Octavia, lifted her completely in the air, and deposited her away from the Grounder boy she was attempting to bite (Clarke _knew_ she was a biter). “You guys!” she yelled. “If you don’t stop right now, I’ll—”

Someone toppled into her, knocking her backwards. She barely had time to gasp and choke on her own heart before she was falling off the dock towards the green, germ-infested water.

And then two (annoyingly, impossibly) strong arms seized her her waist. She froze in surprise as she was crushed against Bellamy’s chest and the scent of him flooded her.

Her body was at a precarious forty-five degree angle over the water, but Bellamy’s body anchoring her to safety. His hips touched her hips, and his arms were wrapped around her torso so tightly she could barely breathe. If he let go, if he moved at all, she’d fall. Her heart thundered and crashed against her ribs in an echo of panic and some other emotion she didn’t want to name. (It definitely had something to do with the sheer strength of his arms and the proximity of that freckled face. He had a scar on his upper lip. She hated herself utterly.) Her breath caught, and she swore she saw his eyes darken and his brows tighten.

As she stared at Bellamy, and he stared back, she was struck with the awful feeling that he could read her thoughts. Also that he was going to drop her.

But he didn’t. Slowly, carefully, he eased her back onto solid ground.

She stepped away from him immediately, making a business of smoothing her shirt and her hair. “Thank you,” she said primly.

“Jesus Christ,” Bellamy replied, which was the weirdest _your welcome_ she’d ever received, and ran to stop a Grounder from dunking Jasper headfirst in the lake.

She hand her hands across her stomach and tried to erase the feeling his hands had left. But her heart was still whirling.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry that update took so long! I think it took coming back from hellatus and being UTTERLY TRAUMATIZED by this week's episode to get me back into fic gear. I needed happy fluff to cure the pain. (Also, it's going to be a biiiit of a slow burn, since I'm mirroring Season 1 with added romantical things (plus turtles), so hand in there :)
> 
> Thank for all the kudos and comments and bookmarks <333

**Author's Note:**

> SO. Will Octavia show up soon? Will Bellamy lead his pack of devil campers to chaos and death-by-horse? Or will Clarke be able to get them in some kind of order?
> 
> I don't know how many chapters this will end up being, but it's going to be fun and fluffy and full of kissing. AKA, the only way I'll survive this hellatus.


End file.
